As he opened some windows to let some cool air into the house, George tried hard to hold on to the pleasant dream. But it was like trying to hold on to the gentle summer breeze wafting in—it just slid right past him. Feeling a rumble inside of him, George returned to the kitchen to make himself a peanut butter and honey sandwich. But before sitting down to eat it, George realized that he felt like something was missing in his dark, quiet house. Something that he wanted, but he wasn’t sure what it was.
Leaving his sandwich behind, George went into the living room and opened the cabinet that stored all the old vinyl LP records. Perhaps it was music that he needed. He remembered telling Willow that, once he retired, he planned to listen to music again. And yet he hadn’t. George looked over the two rows of albums that had once belonged to Alex and, seeing one that looked far more dog-eared than the others, he pulled it out. It was Simon and Garfunkel’sBridge Over TroubledWater.He stared at the two guys on the cover—they looked like they’d been pulled straight out of the seventies ... and yet they looked like someone he could know right now. He slid out the vinyl record, placed it on the old turntable and, hoping that everything still worked, turned it on.
The first song was “Bridge Over Troubled Water” and, although George knew that he must’ve heard this song before, he didn’t really remember it. It was like hearing it for the first time. The lyrics were so amazing that he had to sit down just to listen. The words sounded like they’d been written just for him. Despite the warmth of the summer evening, George felt goose bumps from head to toe. Although he feared he was hallucinating or about to suffer some fatal condition like a stroke or heart attack, it felt as if the words to that song were being sung by a higher power. God, perhaps?
He listened to the song three more times then turned the whole thing off and, just sitting on the sofa with his hands dangling between his knees, he shook his head. What had just happened? Was it possible that God Almighty—if he did exist—could speak to George through Simon and Garfunkel?
Still feeling slightly delirious, but hungry, George went back to the kitchen and ate his sandwich, washing it down with milk. Then he took a long shower and, feeling bone-tired and wrung out, he returned to bed ... in the hopes that the beautiful dream would return and continue.
twenty-three
Every time Willow thought of George during the next few days, she simply shot up a brief but earnest prayer. She’d consider checking on him, but then something would distract her. Collin needed help filling out the rest of the college paperwork, as well as some morale boosting over his recent breakup. And Josie wanted company down in the studio while working on painting projects. So Willow threw herself into pottery and actually produced some nice gallery pieces. Besides that, Willow had to train the new girl who was working in the gallery. Haley was smart enough, but she lacked confidence. To make matters worse, Joel hadn’t scheduled himself for many hours and Leslie had taken off several vacation days. By the weekend, Willow felt the need for a vacation herself. Fortunately, the gallery would be closed on Monday. And Leslie would be back on Tuesday.
Although Willow did miss George, which was a bit like missing a toothache, she reminded herself that his life was not nearly as jam-packed and busy as hers. He had a sweet cat to care for ... and a hammock to lie in. If he’d wanted to spend time with her, he certainly knew where to find her.
By Sunday morning, though, her curiosity got the best of her. Especially since Josie appeared concerned as well. “Every time I call his phone, he never answers,” Josie had complained the previous evening. So Willow decided to stroll over and say a friendly hello. Hopefully he wouldn’t mind the intrusion. She suspected that she’d pushed him too hard during their last encounter—he probably was simply establishing his boundaries by placing some time and space between them. And that was fine. If he still wasn’t ready to talk to her, she would simply continue on her stroll.
When she got to George’s house, Willow tried ringing his doorbell and knocking loudly, but he didn’t come to the door. Now she was feeling concerned. So much so that she went around to peek over his fence, only to see the hammock empty.
“George isn’t home,” the neighbor called out as Willow came back around. “He’s been gone all week.”
“Gone?”Willow shaded her eyes to see Lorna watering a pot of petunias. “On vacation? Did he take Baxter with him?”
“I don’t mean gone as in gone-gone. Not like a vacation.” Lorna dropped her hose and walked over to the edge of her lawn. “But he goes out each morning—quite early. And he takes Baxter with him. Totes him along in a carrier case. Stays gone all day.”
“Really? But you don’t know where they go?”
“I asked George about it, but he just said he was taking care of business. Very mysterious.” Lorna chuckled. “But then you know how George likes to keep to himself. Strange fellow, but likeable, and he’s a good neighbor.”
Willow simply nodded. But, as she left, she had a goodguess where George might be spending his days. She turned down the street that led up the hill to where the Rockwell Mansion was situated. That had to be where George and Baxter were holed up. She was curious as to why and hoped he wouldn’t resent her checking on him, but friends popped in on friends.
The big, old house looked just the same on the outside—somewhat neglected, lonely, and rather sad. The place had such a look of abandonment that Willow doubted that George really was inside. But she rang the doorbell and waited. When no one answered, she tried again, then tested the door to find that it was unlocked, which felt rather un-George-like. Was something wrong?
“George?” she called out as she tentatively went in. “Are you here?” She looked around the elegant foyer, surprised to see it now filled with all sorts of old furnishings, cardboard boxes, and general clutter. With no order or appearance of a plan, it looked as if someone had blown up a storage unit.
She peeked in the living room, only to see more pieces of furniture and clutter piled all around. George must’ve gotten over his attic anxiety. She called out again, but he still didn’t answer. He was probably in the attic, hopefully not trapped and buried in debris. She went up the stairs, pausing briefly to admire the family photographs along the stairway wall. His grandmother had a good eye for photography. These photos were real treasures, and Willow felt relieved he hadn’t removed them. But she did wonder what he was up to. Had he decided to sell his family home after all? Although it made sense to do so, she felt sad to think of him letting it go. She knew he loved the old house ... or at least the memories.
“George?” she called from the third floor. Then she spottedan open door and a steep wooden stairway that had to lead to the attic. She was about to holler again when she saw George, dusty and dirty with cobwebs in his hair, coming down with an old rocking horse in his arms.
“Willow!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Sorry, I just let myself in. But I was worried about you,” she confessed. “I stopped by your house and Lorna said you were—”
“How did she know I was up here?” He dusted his hands off on his equally dusty trousers.
“She just said you were gone, that you go out each day and take Baxter with you. I sort of guessed the rest.”
“Oh.” He nodded a bit stiffly. “Well, how have you been?”
“Very busy.” As she followed him and the rocking horse down the two flights of stairs, she gave a brief description of her overly full week. “Looks as if you’ve been rather occupied too.”
He set down the toy. “Yes. I decided it was time to get busy and clean this place up. It’s way overdue.”
“So do you plan to sell the house?”
He rubbed a hand through his uncharacteristically messy hair. “I’m not sure yet. I just want to thin out some of the junk. I’ve set aside a pile for Josie. I planned to call her in a day or two to come look through the items.”
“Do you need any help with this?” She tried not to grimace. “It looks a bit overwhelming.”
